


Bleed Again

by tinacreeper



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Child Murder, Concerned Abby, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Genocide, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, One Shot, Tortured Kane, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinacreeper/pseuds/tinacreeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus sneaks out of Arkadia to warn Indra of Pike’s plan to massacre the peacekeeping force. But the slaughter is over before he can get to her, and the surviving Grounders take Marcus as their prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed Again

He was lying on his side, heavy as lead. He peeled his eyes open crack by crack, the dried blood that was sealing them shut slowly began to give way, though he was sure his eyelashes wouldn't survive. His vision was blurry, his sideways prison swam into view and he saw a line of ants crawling towards him. He tried to move his head to see where they were going, but his neck screamed in protest. Suddenly, it was as if every inch on his body was on fire. Blood rushed to his head and throbbed, he shut his eyes and shifted his right arm - the one not beneath him. He moaned, searing pain shot up from his wrist to his elbow and then, worst of all, to his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and moved his hand to brace himself. He cried out as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. It felt like his shoulder was being ripped from its socket, his ribs were beating heavy tattoos against his blood soaked skin. He looked down at his left shoulder, the serrated wound was an inch or two wide, and was caked in dried blood, and the skin around it had turned a sickly shade of blue and purple. The first thought he remembered having was that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He cried out again as he pushed himself back against the wall, the chain attached to his leg rattled loudly. He slumped against the cold concrete, breathing heavily. _I don't know how much more of this I can take_ , he thought, and for the first time since being in that hole, he allowed a few tears to fall.  
  
He had been in that hole for days. It stank of shit and piss and blood. Marcus looked up through the grate of his cell, wishing the sunlight would travel his way. He was cold, and he didn't think he could survive another night of freezing temperatures. The Grounders hadn't asked him for anything. It seemed they just enjoyed the simple act of beating him slowly to death. He didn't fight back; he knew it would be pointless. And if there were any hope left for peace between their people, fighting back certainly wouldn't help his case.  
  
He would lie there, take it, and try as hard as he could not to think about her. Because thinking of her made him want to fight, and he couldn't do that. Part of him was glad that he was in that godforsaken hole. He wasn't the Commander down here. In this hole, he was finally Marcus again. Back at the camp, he was responsible for the security and order of his people.  
When he had decided that he was going to warn Indra about Pike’s scheme to slaughter their peacekeeping force, he made his way to Abby’s quarters to inform her. He wouldn’t tell another soul, the chances of his plan getting out would surely have him locked up for good. It was ironic, considering his current circumstance.  
  
When she let him into her room he didn’t skirt around the details. He told her everything. How he planned to escape and march into the Grounder’s camp to find Indra. Immediately, she was angry. He’d never seen her so angry before, tears formed in her eyes, and he was sure she desperately wanted to punch him in the face.  
After several measured moments, looking into each other’s eyes, his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, she whispered, “I’m coming with you.”  
He considered touching her face, cupping it in his hand, and caressing her cheek with his thumb. But he needed her to stay in Arkadia. He needed her to stay safe. He couldn’t worry about her; he couldn’t be sidetracked like that. The mission was everything. Three hundred lives were at stake, and he already had that kind of blood on his hands.  
He justified it by telling her; “I need you to keep an eye on Pike.” She opened her mouth to say something, but faltered, her eyes seared into his and he could see her desperation. He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze and left her quarters.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
He knew a rescue party wouldn’t be coming. Abby was the only one who knew about his plan, not that she wouldn’t inform Pike if he didn’t return, the problem was that Pike would happily allow him to rot in this godforsaken hole. So there would be no rescue. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone – how long had Abby not slept, or eaten, in her fear for him – had it been three days? Five? Longer? And every day the Grounders threw down a bucket of mush that sustained him a little longer. And every day they would send their men to beat him until he lost consciousness. He suspected that he was still alive only because he was some form of entertainment. He certainly wasn’t a bargaining chip with the new Chancellor.  
Between beatings, it was easy to keep busy during the day. He could hear the Grounders jeering above, boasting about this morning’s beating, shouting down threats every so often, and he tried to gather as much intelligence as he could. But so far the only thing he’d learned was that peace, any form of it, was now completely out of the question.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
Marcus had chosen the dead of night to attempt his escape plan – because Arkadia had become a kind of prison. One he’d helped create but one he’d now become a prisoner of. Through various channels he’d heard about a small panel to the west of camp that could easily be removed. It was a ten-kilometer hike to Indra’s camp, and he hoped he was moving in the right direction as he stumbled over fallen branches and rocks scattered amongst the dense forest. He estimated that he would reach the Grounder’s camp by morning.  
  
By dawn he had stopped by a stream to refill his canteen, taking a moment to rest on a large rock, when he heard the shots. They didn’t come slow and measured, they came in an explosion of fire and it was impossible to tell how many guns there were. Angry shouts turned to screams; blood curdling screams that sent shivers down his spine. The shots did not stop. He dropped his canteen and ran.  
By the time he reached a steep rise in the forest floor, it was completely silent. He could smell the gunpowder in the air. When he reached the top of the hill he nearly fell to his knees. The scene was grey, dust and smoke hovered in the air, strangled cries for help came from every direction. And hundreds, hundreds of Grounder warriors lay slaughtered in their own tents, on their own land. He noticed that some of them hadn’t even had the time to collect their weapons before being fired upon. A lot of them were unarmed. Tears pulled at the backs of his eyes, horror and disbelief flooded through him. How could Pike sanction, encourage, lead this sort of genocide? What had he turned his people in to?  
Marcus looked down, unable to take in the sight before him, but his eyes fell on the body of a young boy – ten at most, his eyes open, and he could only imagine the kind of terror he must have felt when he realized their weapons were no match for automatic guns. Stepping down the hill carefully, he reached the young boy and knelt before him. “Your fight is over,” Marcus said quietly, placing a gentle hand over the boy’s eyes to close them.  
  
Suddenly, he was pulled up from behind, a strong arm around his throat, one to his head, “Give me one reason I shouldn’t rip your head from your body right now,” the throaty voice winced in pain. Marcus held out his arms in surrender, but the Grounder behind him didn’t loosen his grip.  
“Indra,” Marcus choked, “I need to speak with her.” The Grounder let him go and pushed him forwards, stumbling until he fell to the ground. He saw it before he felt it: an arrowhead protruding from his left shoulder, blood soaking his shirt and soldier jacket. Then came the pain. It tore through his shoulder and spread throughout his entire body. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming out, but still he let out a thick, wavering growl.  
He looked back at the man that had just stabbed him with an arrow. He was enormous, one of the larger Grounders, and he was breathing heavily, complete fury in his eyes. His lips curled into a sinister grin. Through the searing pain, Marcus noticed that he Grounder was bleeding heavily from a bullet wound to the shoulder, blood caked his face and as he followed after Marcus there was a noticeable limp. He then noticed the second bullet wound to his thigh.  
Several minutes passed by as Marcus walked, stumbling, almost blindly, in so much pain, followed closely by the Grounder, who would give him the occasional push.  
“Are you taking me to Indra?” Marcus asked cautiously, wincing as some bushes latched on to the arrow protruding from his shoulder, giving it a tug.  
“No,” the Grounder said angrily.  
“Then where are you taking me?” Panic started to rise in his chest.  
“Blood must have blood,” he said.  
They didn’t talk again.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
When he’d first been thrown into his cell he could hear the cries of survivors, recounting the horror they’d experienced, the angry, hurried voices of fellow Grounders who had come to carry their dead home, and the furious screaming of those – and there were a lot of them – demanding revenge. He could hear the clanging of metal on metal, his mind wondered what kind of torture devices they were constructing to use on his people.  
  
At night, when the men above chugged their alcohol and used their women, and once their sluggish grunts turned to heavy snores, she would find her way into his thoughts. He leaned back against the wall, flinching at the sharp pain sent shooting through his shoulder, his eyes turned upwards through the hole of his cell, trained on the stars above. Momentarily longing for the days of the Ark.  
  
He clasped his hands together, remembering the panic in her eyes at Mount Weather, when they’d chosen her to drill a hole into next. She looked at him then, eyes wide with fear, and he knew she needed him. She needed his reassuring touch, the steadying gaze in his eyes, the warmth of his hands when they lingered on hers a moment longer than they should have. He might have realized then that he loved her. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her, tell her that everything was going to be fine. He struggled against his restraints as they freed her and dragged her to the table in the middle of the room.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
He awoke soaking wet. A Grounder was standing over him holding a dripping bucket. He kicked Marcus' chained foot and he felt it all the way through his ribs and into his shoulder. But something was different. His leg was no longer chained.  
“Leave now, or die,” the Grounder said with a thick, gravely voice, “Tell your Chancellor that he’s got his war.” He dropped the bucket and left through the side entrance to the hole, leaving the door open in his wake.  
Marcus didn’t protest. He pulled his left arm across his chest to steady his shoulder, and, wincing, he pushed himself off the dirt floor and stumbled, coughing, pain searing through him as his vision blacked out for a moment. He made it to the door and stepped out into what was once a Grounder camp. Fires were out but their coals were still smoldering, makeshift shelters were left abandoned, some had succumbed to the rush to leave and were left fallen in a heap on the ground. The Grounders' message rang through his mind. _Tell your Chancellor that he’s got his war_. He had been left behind - alive - to deliver a message.  
As fast as he could, tripping over in pain, he began to make his way back to Arkadia. Wondering if he would even be allowed back in.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
Abby heard of Marcus’ return from a young girl training for security detail. Since Marcus’ departure, or ‘treason’, as Pike put it, Abby had been locked in solitary confinement and was only allowed out during the day to attend to the sick and injured. The young girl had needed treatment for burns to her hand after shooting practice.  
“Commander Kane taught us how to hold the guns properly,” she said weakly, “Is he here?” She glanced around Medical, “I heard he was back with some gross infection.” Abby stopped applying a soothing gel to the girl’s hand immediately and froze. “Abby?” The girl questioned when she stopped working.  
Suddenly very serious, Abby leaned forward so she was face to face with her patient.  
“He’s back?” Abby asked quickly, trying not to get too excited or too concerned at the same time, “When? Infection? How is he? _Where_ is he?” She knew these were all questions that the young soldier couldn’t answer, but she pressed her for information anyway.  
“He’s been back since yesterday,” the girl said, starting to become cautious. “I think I’m good, Abby, thanks,” and she hopped off the table and walked out of Medical before Abby could ask another question.  
  
Abby's heart was in her throat. She couldn't believe it. It had been almost a week; six agonizing days spent begging Pike to send out a search party. "He committed treason, Abby, I think a little walk in the woods will do him some good," Pike had said.  
The first night he was gone, Abby slept on and off, able to doze off into a world of lingering hands and stolen glances. By morning, word had quickly spread throughout Arkadia that the job had been done. Pike and his ten men returned back to camp, their guns above their heads in triumph as the welcoming crowd cheered.  
Abby's gut wrenched. What had they done? All their efforts for peace and belonging were gone within a few hours. Her thoughts turned to Clarke, was she safe in Polis? What would Lexa's retaliation be? Indra, their dear friend, was she still alive? And where was Marcus? Had he made it in time to warn Indra and been shot himself? Was he still in the woods somewhere, injured, unsure if he would be welcomed back to camp? The thoughts raced around her mind, and before she could stop herself she found her way to the Chancellor's quarters and sat herself down in front of Pike's desk.  
  
"Abby," he registered her, "How can I help you?"  
She bit her lip. If she were to tell Pike about Marcus' plan, he would surely have him imprisoned and punished when he returned. But what if something was horribly, horribly wrong? She felt such uneasiness in her stomach. With a silent _I'm sorry Marcus_ , she told Pike.  
"Last night, Marcus went to the peacekeeping camp to warn Indra of your plan." She said it fast and held her breath.  
"And?" Pike said simply, leaning back in his chair.  
"And it's obvious something has happened! Otherwise he'd have been back by now," Abby said, trying her utmost to keep her voice steady.  
"Abby," Pike said almost nonchalantly, "Abby, Abby, Abby," he shook his head before leaning forward in his chair, "You should be happy! This was a great victory for us all!"  
Abby stared at him incredulously. "One of your men-"  
"He is not one of my men," Pike interrupted sharply.  
"One of your _people_ ," Abby's voice was quiet and deadly, "Is out there, possibly injured, maybe worse," she took a deep breath, "And you're not going to do anything about it?"  
Pike didn't answer.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
Abby left Medical, much to the protest of Jackson. She knew she looked frantic, rushing through the halls, poking her head in various rooms, her heart beating so fast she thought it might stop. Why hadn’t she been informed of his return? Was he injured? Worse? She stopped herself; she couldn’t go there, to think that he hadn’t survived… No, she couldn’t lose him, not after everything. Tears burned in her eyes. Without warning she bumped into something solid. Looking up, she noticed Pike standing in front of one of the solitary confinement cells, flanked by two heavily armed guards.  
“He’s in there,” she said quietly, trying to see beyond the three men and through the small window in the door.  
“He’s being detained,” Pike said, “To be tried for treason.” Abby didn’t care. She tried to squeeze past the guards but they blocked her easily.  
“He’s injured,” she assumed, and when Pike didn’t say anything she knew she was right, “You have to let me see him.” Pike just watched her shift her weight from foot to foot, her eyes wild, “Or his death will be on your hands too.”  
One of the guards stepped forward, reaching for his gun, “It’s fine,” Pike said with a wave of his hand. “Let her in, let her see what the Grounders did to him, and Abby,” he looked down at her, “I hope that this will convince you that what we did was the right thing to do.”  
They stepped aside, and Abby took a deep breath before entering the dark cell.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
The second night he was gone, she didn’t sleep for one moment. By the third and fourth nights, Raven had taken up residence in her quarters, encouraging her to eat and reciting the procedures for homemade bombs in an effort to lull the doctor to sleep.  
“What if he doesn’t come back,” she whispered into the dark, staring up at the ceiling.  
“It’s Kane, he always comes back,” Raven said quietly from her place on the couch.  
“But what if he doesn’t,” Abby held back tears. Why hadn’t she gone with him? Why hadn’t she forced her hand and made him take her with him? She berated herself for thinking she would be able to protect him somehow, but at least she would be with him. As tears silently slipped from her eyes and onto the pillow beneath her head, she felt an ache in her chest so strong she had to squeeze her eyes shut; she didn’t think she could handle the pain.  
It had happened slowly and she couldn’t remember exactly when she knew she loved him, but she did, and she couldn’t lose him too. Jake, Clarke… everyone in her life had a habit of disappearing on her.  
She remembered that day in Polis, watching him with the locals, the way his eyes lit up around them, his complete amazement at what the Grounders had accomplished. When he declined the Chancellor pin with a simple, “No matter who wears the pin, we’re in this together,” she knew that yes – she did love him. And for a few moments, standing in the middle of the markets of Polis, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.  
  
 ***~*~*~***  
  
The cell was dark, save for a small lamp beside the bed. She could see his outline, a dark shadow lying on top of the covers, completely silent. Moving forward, she knelt down beside the bed so that he could see his face, and her heart stopped.  
He was covered in blood; it was caked along one eye, the corner of his lips, and his cheek, on top of sizeable bumps that had grown purple in color. His eyes were closed, probably for the best, she thought. Her hands moved to his shoulder, assessing his wound, trying not to cry at the state of him. It was evident that no one had been allowed in to clean him up, to wipe away the blood, to ice his injuries, to clean his obviously infected shoulder wound. He would need antibiotics, she mused, falling into Doctor Griffin mode. She let her hands gently test his arms, his abdomen, feeling the heat emanating from his forehead, and when she moved her hands to cup his cheek softly, his eyes opened.  
“Hey,” he croaked, a small smile on his lips at the sight of her.  
“Hey,” she said through a thick veil of tears. He offered his hand to her, and she took it immediately, softly intertwining their fingers. She smiled at the contact. “You, Marcus Kane, are the biggest idiot known to man.” She said it with a smile but he knew she was deadly serious.  
“I know,” he said weakly. He tightened his hold on her hand, pulling it gently towards him, and that was all the invitation she needed. She scooted forward on her knees and placed her head on his chest, tearful eyes locked on his, one hand still holding onto his, fearing that if she let go, he might vanish into thin air.  
He used his free hand to gently stroke her hair.  
  
They stayed like that for a long time, Abby comforted by his tender touch and solid heart beat beneath her ear. Eventually, her knees growing sore from the hard ground, she stood up, never letting go of his hand. He shifted painfully towards the wall, leaving enough room for her to climb on to the bed with him. Her legs tangled with his, he let go of her hand to place it around her shoulders, pulling her into him, and she buried her face in his chest as she felt him draw in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair.  
  
“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” she whispered, recalling their past conversation the last time he had taken it upon himself to be the hero.  
“I had those fears myself,” he echoed, placing a kiss to her hairline.  
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Slowly, she reached up and caressed his cheek, before leaning towards him and placing a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t how she had imagined their first kiss; she had imagined passion, spontaneity, and surprise. But she much preferred this. He was with her, alive, his heart beating soundly beneath her, and there was a different kind of desperation. Not the kind that said _I need you_ , but the kind that said _I can’t live without you_.  
  
There was a loud pounding on the door, but they didn’t break their contact, instead Marcus pulled her up closer towards him, deepening the kiss. His shoulder protested as he held her cheek with his free hand, tightening his arm around her shoulders. The broke briefly for air, but resumed the gentle, yet firm, kiss. There was more pounding on the door. She softly kissed his bottom lip, once, twice, and kissed cheek lightly.  
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered.  
“I doubt Pike –”  
“I don’t care what Pike wants or doesn’t want,” she placed a hand on his chest, their lips merely centimeters apart, “I’m getting you fixed up,” and as she was about to leave he reached out his hand and pulled her back, kissing her once more. She leaned her forehead against his, his hand tangling in her hair.  
“Abby,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear him, “He won’t let you.” His eyes closed in defeat.  
She couldn’t help but smile weakly, “We’re in this together, remember,” she murmured, gently placing one last kiss on his lips before standing and moving towards the door. They both noticed the cold air between them, missing each other’s warmth. “I’ll be back,” she promised, their eyes holding each other’s, and he finally felt able to rest. Despite his pain, his fever, his so-called treason, for the first time in a long time, he relaxed back against the bed and smiled at her softly.  
When she was returned to her own cell, she sat on the bed, knowing that she too would sleep well tonight.  
  
 **End.**


End file.
